A Demon's Fate
by Alahnore
Summary: Vampires are not born; they are made. \\ Valvatorez-centric, takes place 2000ish years before Disgaea 4.
1. The Vampire's Marionette

_Vampires are not born; they are made._

_Legacies are passed by power, not by blood right. Cunning, adaptability, the strength to conquer and the fortitude to withstand opposition are basic requirements of any ruler, but some are born and groomed into such roles. Vampires do no such coddling. They earn and hold their positions until they are outsmarted, outdone, defeated. Opportunities abound and the vampire capitalizes on the mistakes of both their enemies and their sires, rising above their squalor origins to become the master. Some vampires are created by the bite of another. Some from the blood of another. Some begin as humans, some other types of demons._

_But in his case, he started as a puppet._

There's a sensation of fingers petting his hair; long slender digits combing through black locks in the same idle affection a human had for a placated dog. But unlike that dog who could revel in the show of love, he sits at his Master's feet, staring blankly ahead at the guests who had come to see the Master. There was no feeling to the light tugs, and he has no reaction to it or the words flying above his head. What was a marionette to do but simply be there and be something pleasing to glance at?

"The humans are proving to be a problem," one of the guests reported, rising from his kneeled position to directly speak to the Master. "They have found the courage to reform and their armies are no longer completely terrified by our presence alone."

The Master lightly twirled some of his puppet's loose locks around his fingers, looking bored. "Then begin putting them in their place," the Master replied, resting his cheek against his other fist. "Are you not demons? Should I make an example of you? Hades has been empty so I've heard…"

The guest recoiled, a look of disgust and terror on his face. "N-not at all, Master! The humans will be scattering and screaming within the day!"

"Lovely," the Master chuckled. "My new pet here has had trouble sleeping, a lullaby may be what he needs," He tugged on the puppet's hair, forcing his head up a bit higher for his pale face to be seen. "Come, my little Valvatorez, surely your transition is complete. Speak, let them hear that voice."

Valvatorez's eyes slowly shifted to the side, like he could see the Master from there. But he didn't dare move his head, and decided to look to the guests instead. They were giving him dark looks, as if he were an eyesore. Perhaps he was. He couldn't remember if this was what he truly looked like, or if it was a result of the Master's transformation of him into what he was now.

If he were anything prior to this, anyway.

"There is nothing to say." Valvatorez spoke, the only words that made sense to him.

"Indeed, for a puppet there isn't." The Master laughed, letting Valvatorez's hair go for a moment before beginning to pet it again. "But I find your company far more pleasing than these fools. You could frighten a few humans, couldn't you, pet?"

Valvatorez said nothing at first, his eyes glancing down at his appearance. He was a young man, but forced to wear frilly, over-priced clothing like a fine china doll. Perhaps if his appearance was simplified, fit more for his body and age; if he had a cloak like the Master, and allowed to stand on his own feet. If the large red and black screw imbedded into his heart to keep it from beating too much wasn't a symbol of being a vampire's marionette, then perhaps he could.

"I asked you a question, _pet._"

"I don't know." Valvatorez replied, keeping his eyes down. "I hardly look all that terrifying in these clothes."

"The lip on that one," a guest murmured, shifting his weight. "Where did you find the thing, Master?"

The vampire laughed, ruffling Valvatorez's hair. "I didn't. I made him. Isn't he splendid—so freshly made and capable of speaking full sentences? He follows commands so well also. Maybe I should redress him and send him out. If my puppet could scare the humans better than you lot… why, I'd have no need for any of you weaklings."

The other demons flinched. "Master, you would lose him. The humans would tear him apart."

"Then that would be his problem," the vampire replied coolly. His hand slipped from Valvatorez's hair, down his cheek and to his chin, turning the puppet's head toward him and up. The Master leaned down, touching his cheek to Valvatorez's as he spoke softly into the puppet's pointed ear, "Would you like to sow chaos and fear in the humans, pet?"

Valvatorez hardly heard him, the pulsing vein of his Master's neck so close to his lips. There was a surge of some sort of pain erupting from deep within, and Valvatorez found himself struggling to remain impassive as he was taught. Yet all he wanted at that moment was to part his lips and sink his teeth into that lazily beating, living pulse.

To distract himself, Valvatorez answered quietly, "Whatever my Master desires."

The answer was favorable to the Master, but it earned the very punishment Valvatorez dreaded; he didn't have the chance to flinch away, to brace himself when the vampire's fangs pierced his collar and skin. He could feel his blood be pulled out of him, but Valvatorez won't grasp at the Master, cling like some helpless dolt. He might be a puppet, but being created by the Master like this made him a demon. His hands form tight, shaking fists and he grits his teeth, shutting his eyes tightly and bearing the 'reward' he earned himself. He could feel the envious gazes of the guests, but if only they knew there was more shame than pleasure in this sort of servitude he never asked for.

When it finally ended Valvatorez turned his eyes away, keeping his head tilted just like he was taught so the Master could enjoy the sight of the bloodied ruined white collar, the perfectly circular holes in his neck slowly clotting up. When the Master's tongue ran over the remnants of blood on his skin Valvatorez withheld the urge to shudder in disgust. He knew this was how vampires were, but if he were a real vampire, he'd never force his victims to feel so… debased. Fear was one thing, but this? But the Master would never ease his feedings off him, never bewitch him like vampires could do before biting. Valvatorez was convinced the Master probably forced these feelings of shame on him anyway, just to prove a point.

After all, what else was a vampire's marionette for?


	2. Buried Fear

"Come, precious. The sunlight only burns for a little while."

Valvatorez didn't move though, clinging to the wall he hid within the shadow of, the smell of burnt flesh mocking him just as much as the Master's words. The vampire stood a few feet away, bathed in the radiant light that had dazzled Valvatorez when it first began to rise from the horizon. Yet when Valvatorez sought to stand in the light himself he had felt his entire body ignite on fire, the searing pain ripping through to his core. His clothes were frayed and burned in several places, and he swore he felt some of his skin had melted like wax. But skin didn't melt like wax, did it? Or was he made of such things when the Master crafted him?

At Valvatorez's hesitation, the Master laughed. "How will you ever overcome your weaknesses if you cower before them?" the vampire taunted. "If you wish to be a proper demon, you must be able to walk in the sun. Humans may fear the dark… but they fear what can come after them in the light of day even more."

"And if the sun kills me?" Valvatorez snapped, pressing closer to the wall as the light seemed to come closer to him.

"Then you are too weak. That is your fault, hardly mine."

"You _made_ me."

The words made the Master's smile grow, his fangs peeking out. "I did, but that's all I've done. The rest is yours, pet. But thank you for the reminder, for now I remember you must obey every order I give you. Now, _Valvatorez_, come to my side."

There was no real enchantment or magic compulsion, but Valvatorez felt something else tug at him. It was the result of training since he opened his eyes. One did not ignore the Master or disobeyed the Master, else they faced punishment. Valvatorez had sat in too many other puppets' fates for his liking, and he knew no matter how 'favored' he was, the Master would make an example of him.

It wasn't the Master he feared, Valvatorez was learning this well. He rose to his feet shakily, still pressed against the wall, the vampire's eyes glaring into him. The ridges of the screw in his chest still felt hot from the original burn, and Valvatorez knew if he wasn't strong enough, he'd lose what was left of his heart under the implement. After another moment he squared his shoulders, raised his head, and stepped out of the shadows. The first contact blasted through him, pain rolling through his body and enflaming every sense he had. The next step was no better. Neither were the third or fourth, but Valvatorez kept his head high as his clothes began to burn and his skin felt like it were melting all over again.

He didn't fear the Master or even the Master's punishments. What Valvatorez was beginning to fear was losing what little made him who he was, and being nothing but a silent, dead puppet like all the others before him.

He burned silently at the Master's side, his teeth gritting and fists shaking from the pain, but he didn't make a sound. He bore the pain and let it run its course, knowing in the end he would survive. He had to. He had the strength, the fortitude, and he was going to bear whatever pathetic tests the Master put him through just to prove a point.

Relief providing shade was thrown over him as the vampire raised his arm, covering Valvatorez with his cloak. The fire dimmed down to embers, and Valvatorez turned his eyes to the Master, face still twisted in pain but determination as well. There was no sound, but Valvatorez could tell the Master was admiring him, knowing his suffering was found beautiful to the vampire.

If he were the real vampire, Valvatorez would never be like his sire. He would be the thing feared, not punishments, not some loss of self. This vampire claimed to be what the humans feared, but Valvatorez was beginning to believe that was hardly the case. The Master thrived on false ideas he was some powerful demon, proper and capable; one day Valvatorez hoped he'd show the man the real definition of fear.

One day he'd show all of the worlds what fear truly was, and what face it wore.


	3. Discovering Purpose

He stumbled, nearly falling, and only part of it was an act. He really did feel unbalanced and weak, drained and empty—the profusely bleeding holes in his neck and the bloodied shirt more than evidence of what his problem was. Yet the pain of that bite and the fact his blood was still dripping out of him without clotting up wasn't what was on the forefront of his mind as he shakily made his way to the nearest human encampment. The shame of being this distraction was definitely above that, and the anger of this pathetic ploy even further up.

He'd already sent small scouting parties scattering with his bloodied, pale-skinned and near death appearance. They probably already reported his coming, but until they get brave he was ordered to keep going. A part of Valvatorez wanted to cut loose, to run and escape from under the Master's pathetic weak grasp—yet he knew, at the very least, the Master _was_ stronger than him. He could run to Hades and the bastard would find him, just to prove a point.

As he stumbled closer to the encampment, guards noticed him and raised an alarm. Valvatorez had little to defend himself with; a simple sword at his waist. At this distance he hoped they'd see him as a helpless human, giving him a chance to get closer. The guards began to meet him partway, although behind them he could see more hesitantly gathering.

"Come no closer, bitten!" a human barked, but Valvatorez just continued to amble closer. "S-stop!"

It was good to hear a touch of fear to the human's voice, but it was also annoying. It wasn't Valvatorez they feared, it was the blood and the meaning of his appearance. Perhaps if he got a bit closer…

The guards' shoulders tensed, and Valvatorez's eyes widened a bit. Under the flimsy sheets of metal they called armor, he could hear something at this distance. It sounded familiar, enticing, and his nostrils flared when he recognized it. A fast beating heart, pumping blood quicker through the human body. A shot of hunger ripped through him, and he lost his stumble, moving with more purpose.

It seemed to scare the guards more than his helpless act, and they began to back away. The thought of losing this chance, to perhaps bolster his power up a bit like a real vampire, shattered Valvatorez's anger and shame and he blitzed for the guard whose scent caught his attention. The man shrieked like a banshee, but even as a vampire's puppet, Valvatorez was faster than a human. The gorget went flying into the air, slapping the other guard in the face and Valvatorez nuzzled that beating pulse, the vein pumping even faster now. His lips parted, the tiny fangs he developed aiming to puncture right into that thick cord pulsating under the human's skin; an excitement he never knew before beginning to rush through his mind. The Master fed him droplets of blood from a fancy goblet before, but this! The smell, the taste of the air just above the flesh—

Pain exploded in Valvatorez's shoulder just as his teeth sank into the skin. The force of the arrow made him jerk back a bit, enough to dislodge his small fangs, and in his shock the guard he nearly drank from scampered away, making noises akin to sobbing as he cowered near the line of guards rushing to his aid.

"You're safe now, comrade!" the human with the bow told the shaking man. "It's only one little demon, men—and we are many! Together we can vanquish it!"

Valvatorez hissed, his eyes wide and teeth bared, yet for all of his appearance and what he had nearly done the humans set upon him. Arrows went flying and as he ran from those, he could hear the armor of chasing humans and the drawing of swords. Another arrow got him in the back of his other shoulder, his upper arm, and one the back of his thigh. But Valvatorez ran, half turning and waving his arm in the air to summon a slew of black and red illusionary bats seeming to appear from his drably cape. The illusion worked well enough, causing the humans to stop chasing him and scatter, giving him the precious moments to bleed back into the darkness and get himself back to the Netherworld.

Even if it was his Master's pathetic ploy, Valvatorez could admit he enjoyed seeding fear in the poor little humans. Although his one true regret was not tasting the blood that he nearly had in his grasp.

Back at the Master's palace, Valvatorez had returned to his usual dour mood. Returning to this place, where all of his shame and hatred was located ruined whatever temporary high he got from the chase. He technically failed his mission, returning as a pin cushion, and he was not looking forward to the Master's disapproval.

Even still he walked with his head high and shoulders squared, ignoring the other puppets' dead gazes as he marched down the runway to the Master's throne. When the Master's eyes turned to him and narrowed, Valvatorez stared back, stopping at the foot of the steps leading to the grand chair.

It was such a cliché thing, a throne. If Valvatorez was a master vampire, he'd try something a little less predictable if he could.

"I see you had fun, Valvatorez," the Master drawled, tipping his goblet over. A thin stream of blood fell into the carpet, immediately absorbed, but the puppet currently at his feet dove for it, lapping like a starved dog at the wet splotch. "I also see you failed to do much."

"One man pissed his codpiece and the other shit in his armor, I'd say that's fairly decent for the fact you sent me to look like bait." Valvatorez shot back, frowning.

"And the only reason that did was because you nearly fed on one." The fact the Master had seen that made Valvatorez's eye twitch. "Ah yes, I saw your brave little move. Of course I was watching. You know, Valvatorez, I believe I taught you that you take blood only from me. You do _not_ seek it out on your own."

"It was on your orders to scare the humans, you didn't give specifics."

The Master laughed, rising to his feet. Valvatorez fought the urge to flinch when the vampire was suddenly in front of him, his chin grasped in the man's cold fingers. For all the blood the bastard consumed, he seemed cold and starved. Maybe it was an act.

"I so do love the lip on you." The Master taunted, running his thumb along Valvatorez's bottom lip. "You know better, pet."

Valvatorez tried to turn his head, to break free, but the vampire's grasp was strong. He had to resist the urge to bite him, and the only way to do that was to taunt back, "Are you afraid that if I were to drink enough human blood I would betray you?"

The Master laughed again, a bellowing one that almost seem forced. The man was a horrible actor. "I am nearing Tyrant status, pet—you could guzzle at the necks of a thousand humans and you would not even touch the tip of the iceberg that is my power."

"An iceberg? I'd prefer to be an inferno. It's a bit more total and all-consuming in that sense."

The Master forced Valvatorez to tip his head up and away, and only then did the puppet feel a stab of panic. "You are quite the flame, Valvatorez. You are obedient yet you toe the line. Tonight you'll share my coffin."

When the Master's face came closer to the still unhealed holes of his neck and licked at the dried blood there, Valvatorez shuddered. He'd rather go back to the human camp and take a few more arrows than share space with this _thing_.

"I'm not exactly…" Valvatorez started, gritting his teeth as he felt the Master's fangs re-pierce those holes. "Exactly in… good shape for… _that_."

The Master drank a few mouthfuls before drawing back, and finally Valvatorez could feel his blood try to clot, to close up that wound. It was a relief. "So it seems. Very well. I will summon a nurse. But do not think you've escaped me, Valvatorez. I do favor your… _inferno_."

The Master turned from him, baring his back, and Valvatorez's hand grasped the handle of his shoddy sword. Yet he didn't draw it, knowing he stood no chance. The Master was a fool, and he would see the inferno of the hell waiting for him soon.


	4. Triumph

Getting the arrows ripped out of his body was a far more pleasant experience than having the Master feed off him again, or worse yet, spend any amount of time in an enclosed space with him. Valvatorez was grateful for each agonizing jerk the nurse made as she removed an arrow. The wounds were closed up and salved over to prevent scars, and Valvatorez made a point to steal a little to apply to his neck.

The nurse kept nervously glancing to the door, trying to speed up her work, but Valvatorez was more than happy to lazily turn as she requested, sometimes even ignoring her urgent commands just to watch her squirm for a bit.

"Why are you so afraid?" he finally asked as she worked on the last wound.

The nurse flinched. Normally the Master's puppets didn't speak. "I… am not."

"You know, it's a bad habit to lie. Especially to another demon. They always find out and use it against you." He advised, and the girl paled.

"The Master said to be quick about it…" she muttered, slathering on the salve.

Valvatorez rolled his eyes a bit. "So?"

"Well… if I am too slow, he'll punish me."

"Which is what any other demon could do." Valvatorez figured, making the girl pause. "So you'd be scared if anyone stronger than you threatened you."

The nurse stammered a moment, but after another fugitive glance to the door, she nodded a bit. "I… suppose so. I guess I am a coward."

"But it's not even the Master or the stronger being you're afraid of. It's the punishment."

The nurse stared at him, her eyes opening a crack. For her type, it was like anyone else's eyes going wide. "They do the punishment. It's normal to fear the hand that strikes."

"I don't." Valvatorez said simply. "I don't think the Master is scary at all. I don't even think his punishment is frightening either."

"You're a puppet, you don't feel."

"I feel disgust and shame, thank you," he huffed. "I don't think I'd need healing if I didn't feel. You're the one who's so easily frightened."

The nurse frowned, but before she could say anything, Valvatorez hopped off her little table, towering over her and glaring down at her. He was hardly anything—and in her own words, a puppet—yet she flinched away from him.

"I don't threaten you with idle punishments, but you're afraid of me." Valvatorez observed.

"H-hardly! I just know I can't do anything to harm the Master's favorite puppet!"

"Your heart's racing," Valvatorez's eyes narrowed, zoning in on her neck. The nurse grimaced, leaning away. "You're scared. Of _me_, a _puppet_. Why?"

She moved away from him, quickly gathering her things. "You're healed, I'm done, I'm leaving!"

Valvatorez doesn't bother stopping her, letting her run out of the room with the same urgency she tried to use in healing him. Her retreat was his victory, because it proved he was adept to instilling fear in even demons, ones who were meant to be even greater than he… a mere vampire's _toy_.

He grinned, smoothing out his clothes. It may take years, decades or centuries, but Valvatorez was sure he would no longer be a toy one day. This little incident was proof enough he was capable of doing what the Master could do—and it'd be _him_ feared first and foremost, not _just_ what he'd do.

One day, Valvatorez would be the master. And then he'll surpass even that, and be what the Master coveted and would never claim. That was a promise to himself.

* * *

Valvatorez learned an important lesson through one of the Master's various mistakes. With his return, he had once more become the prized possession for the Master to flaunt, forcing him to sit in on the meetings the Master held with his allies.

The word Valvatorez used loosely though. After such meetings the Master always mumbled to himself, always plotting a way to turn the tables on the other demons to use them to launch himself higher in power and prestige. Plotting ways to get rid of those that wouldn't be useful, and then just for the hell of it, plotting ways to kill those he believed useful. A part of Valvatorez could see the merit, but the rest of him noticed a fatal pattern in this thinking: The demons sought to backstab and lie to each other, using false promises and pretty words. They isolated themselves from each other, standing on their own and being only what they were.

It made him think of his encounter with the humans. Those two guards were pathetic, but the moment more humans joined, their fear evaporated. There were power in numbers, yes, but there was something else when humans joined in numbers. Demons still bickered, fought and plotted against their brothers in arms… yet humans forged actual bonds. And with the way the Master's armies were being slowly pushed back, Valvatorez had a feeling his inability to keep his promises was going to be the Master's downfall.

And it'd be deliciously ironic. He never said a word to the Master about this prediction, just hoping it comes to pass. For all the bullshit the Master spun about the humans, his power and everything, it would only be perfect for him to be undone by the very beings he swore he could cow into submission. Every day the Master lost on the grand field of battle, the less he seemed like the Master. It was something Valvatorez glorified, although the other puppets were too far dead, cowardly and lacked ambition to see the good in.

It was disappointing to see his fellow marionettes so lacking. Valvatorez had to wonder what made himself different—did the Master not teach them the same? Make them the same way he made Valvatorez? Perhaps they were made from dust, and Valvatorez's prior form was something more alive. Even as they bear the screws in their chests, Valvatorez was confused none of them had beating hearts like he did.

"Remember this, pet," the Master drawled on, and Valvatorez barely lifted his head off his palm. "A Tyrant needs no one. They have all the power they need to take whatever they wish, the rest be damned. These pathetic fools think I need them? Think I will owe them some debt? The nerve. When this campaign is over I will show them just how worthless they truly are."

Such words went through one ear and out the other. Valvatorez had no interest in the Master's ideals of what it meant to be a Tyrant. As it were, it sounded like nothing special—it was the typical demon's thinking. The Master didn't know what it meant to be a Tyrant; neither did Valvatorez, but he had an inkling that he knew more than the bastard.

"You should keep your promises," Valvatorez spoke up, making the Master stop his agitated pacing. "You do need those demons to handle the humans."

The man was on Valvatorez before he could blink, and a heartbeat later the puppet was sprawled on the floor, his jaw nearly broken from where the Master backhanded him out of his seat and across the room. "I do not _need_ anything!" The Master barked, glaring as Valvatorez slowly got off the floor. "Know your place, _pet_!"

"Certainly," Valvatorez grumbled, rubbing his aching jaw. He said nothing more, and the Master did nothing more, just glared at him with teeth gritted and bared.

At that moment, Valvatorez realized he had done something no puppet should be capable of doing: he really won over the Master.


	5. Beginning of the Tyranny

It was only a matter of time for it to happen, and once it did Valvatorez had to keep himself from cackling from his hiding spot. Outside he could hear the fighting, the screaming and shouting as the party of human 'heroes' stormed through the castle and ripped through the puppets who's dead hearts held bewitched loyalty to the Master. He and a few others ignored the call to arms and hid themselves, listening to the battles raging. But the only things the Master had protecting him were his puppets, for his 'allies' were either killed by his own hands or too embittered to come to his aid.

Valvatorez leaned his head against the board of the wall he hid within, half smiling and whispering to himself, "I told you so," as he heard the Master's booming voice echo in the halls.

The voice held little confidence. How could it? The idiot never believed the humans would gather the courage to brave the Netherworld, never mind his palace. He was so enamored by the idea of his own false power, that he was some glorified Tyrant in the making, that the Master could never fathom the idea he would fall to the very prey he feasted on.

Valvatorez wished he were out there, watching the battle take place. He wanted to see the Master struggle, to see the look on his face when he realized a puppet was right. That he should have kept his word, that he should have treated his allies better… that he was wrong.

Most of all though, Valvatorez wished he could go out there, ally himself with the humans just long enough for him to stab the bastard in the face.

It felt like hours, listening to the clashing of blades, the profanities and the screams of pain as some human heroes were found weak and wanting. Yet the Master was just one man, and a pathetic one at that—however long it took, Valvatorez waited with bated breath for the final wail, the last echo of flesh being sliced apart. When it came Valvatorez felt his heart stop and his smile nearly devoured his entire face, easily recognizing the Master's voice as he shouted in denial of his defeat.

There was some cheer amongst the human party, the palace looted of its obvious goods and the heroes parading their trophies of treasures and demon body parts. The fools departed before too long, off to enjoy their so-called hard earned happy ending and endgame stage. When the silence settled and the other puppets too stricken to move, Valvatorez carefully pried the wall apart to creep out.

The room was totaled and the marionettes who fought for the Master had their body parts strewn over the bloody floor. Valvatorez didn't bat an eye at the carnage, just stepping over limbs and gray matter to make his way to the Master's inner sanctum. Did he think he'd be safe in there?

Down the winding stairs and through the elaborate archways, Valvatorez made his way to the final battlefield. The double doors were barely hanging on their hinges, and when he ducked under their ruin, the half-destroyed room made him smirk. A few more bodies were here, and the smell of human blood was thick in the air.

Yet Valvatorez could ignore that when he saw the Master's body in the center of the room, flayed on his own coffin, a sword embedded in his chest. The humans were so damned stupid—a stab through the chest didn't kill a vampire. It merely immobilized them if it went completely through the heart. But so long as no one removed the sword, the Master would starve and waste away in a slow, agonizing death that befitted him.

The Master's eyes opened and looked, widening as he saw Valvatorez nearby. "Pet," he whispered hoarsely, his fingers twitching in an effort to reach out to him. "Come… assist your… Master. Give me… your blood…"

There was no compulsion. For a terrifying second, Valvatorez froze and waited for that forced obedience. Yet there was none, not a twinge in his mind, and Valvatorez found himself slowly grinning. He walked to the Master, hurrying to his side and taking up that twitching hand.

"I told you so," Valvatorez gloated as the Master's eyes widened further, his pupils dilating. "I told you you'd need those demons. I told you the humans would find you. A puppet was right over you, you bastard. You should have kept your promises."

"You… bitch…"

"Oh no. I do believe it's you who's the bitch now." Valvatorez idly rolled down the Master's ruffled sleeve, baring his wrist. He'd go for the neck, but that was too close to the bastard's own teeth for his liking.

The Master's hand twitched, but he couldn't pull away. "Do not… dare…!"

"What was it you said?" Valvatorez mocked, raising the wrist up a bit. "Oh. That I may take blood only from _you_. Why, Master, I'm merely following your order!"

Valvatorez cackled, abruptly cutting it off when the anticipation proved too great. He bit down hard at the wrist in his grasp, enjoying the gasp of pain from the vampire. It was a slow bleed compared to the neck, but Valvatorez drank deeply of what blood remained in the demon, swallowing every drop and marveling at the pulses of power he felt vibrating through him.

When he pulled that last drop from the Master Valvatorez ripped his longer fangs free from the flesh, dropping the dying vampire's arm and stumbling back a bit. A fiery sensation ripped through his entire body, igniting him from his toes to the ends of his hair. It felt like he was morphing physically—perhaps he was. Valvatorez groaned, wrapping his arms around himself and dropping to his knees, head bowed down close to the ground.

He wasn't sure how long he felt like he was on fire. It reminded him of the first time he stepped into the sun, but when the pain ended and he sat up, his skin wasn't melted. His clothes weren't burned, but they were smaller than he remembered them being. His tongue ran over the fangs, sharper than before, far more suited for piercing skin.

Valvatorez ran his hand through his slightly longer hair, an odd look to his face. He had done a taboo thing… a puppet feasting off the Master. He glanced to the coffin, finding a gaunt, almost dried out corpse laying there now.

He was still alive. Wouldn't a puppet perish with its string holder?

Valvatorez laughed, getting to his feet unsteadily. Laughing hurt in a sense, his tight clothes constricting and making it hard to breathe, but he couldn't contain his glee. He wasn't a puppet, not anymore! Now, Valvatorez was the master. He was the vampire.

But just because he consumed the last life of his sire didn't mean he had the bastard's power, not that he wanted it. No. He would work for his power in the ways _he_ wanted. Valvatorez straightened himself the best he could, grabbing the sword from the corpse and pulling it free. He might as well take a trophy, something to get him started.

He'd attain his own name and greatness. This mess he could leave behind in the dust—the sooner he forgot it all, the better. He was the master now, and he had his own rules to start enacting. It was time to do everything he ever wanted to do, to obtain the things he wanted and believed, and to do it _his_ way.

It was time to become Fear itself.


End file.
